


Parallels

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Sex, Smut, mini-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: The Supernatural series weren’t the only books Chuck wrote…





	1. Chapter 1

It had become a habit a long time ago, when they frequented libraries a little more often, to clear out all of the Supernatural books they found. When Charlie told them that they’d gone online, neither Winchester bothered too much with their old habit of removing them or disposing of them. There seemed to be little point to the exercise.

Sam was at the local Lebanon library, looking for a particular book on Greek myths and legends when he found them again. Driven by a need to get rid of them, he started to pile them into his book bag, not stopping until the shelf was clear.

And that was when he spotted them.

Six books, the covers of similar design to the books that chronicled his and his brother’s exploits, but this time, there was a woman on the cover. The title, sprawled across the top in thick, italic writing, declared the name of the book series as Hunters, which seemed kinda lame, and when Sam saw Chuck’s pen name underneath, his eyebrows knit together in worry.

Scooping those books up with the rest of the Supernatural books, he headed for the exit, slipping out without the librarian seeing his stash. He tucked the books in the trunk of the Impala and started the short drive home.

“So get this,” he announced, walking into the war room, where Dean sat with his feet up on the table, and his laptop open on a show while he stuffed his face with cereal. “Chuck wrote more books.”

Dean scowled, sitting upright, dumping his bowl onto the table hard enough to slosh milk over the edge. “What? I thought we told him no? I’m not above kicking God’s ass -”

“Not about us,” Sam replied, shaking his head, placing the book bag on the map table. “There’s six of them, all about this girl called Y/N.”

“You read them?”

“Only the back of the first one,” Sam mused, holding it out to Dean, who took it, peering at the white writing on the back of the black cover.

“Y/N is born from darkness, into a line of hunters stretching through her ancestry. The start of the apocalypse leads her down a path that could see her end - can she fight back?” Dean’s face screwed up, and he glanced at Sam in disgust. “Man, he really aims these for teen readers, huh?”

“They were published at the same time as ours were,” Sam pointed out, taking the second book out of the basket. “See, this one says she has a brother.” He picked up the last book, frowning at the cover. “Do you think she’s real, like us?”

Dean shrugged, tossing the book onto the table. “Chuck would have said something,” he said, seeming nonchalant about the possibility of it. “I bet if we google it, we’ll find out these books didn’t do as well as ours -”

Sam smirked, looking at him through a curtain of hair. “Ours didn’t do great, Dean.”

“Whatever. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. They’re just books, Sam.”

*****

Two days passed without a hunt or even a sniff of a case. Dean had indulged his inner domestic goddess and cleaned out the entire bunker, while Sam was reorganizing the library for the millionth time. He would later complain that Dean never helped with the research, but how could he when he never knew which system Sam was using to organize everything.

The books were piled neatly on the war room table, taunting him. Last night, he’d dreamed about a faceless girl, trapped in hell, just like he’d been. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been wrong, that these books were something more.

So he started reading.

They were just like the books Chuck had written about them - horror, loss of family, struggles. Y/N was a fighter, it was clear, and by the end of the first book, Dean knew her history. She’d lost her parents young, had a younger brother who was trained like her that she practically raised.  He knew that responsibility all too well, felt it on a cellular level.

He had to know if it was real.

Sam got up and wandered into the library, dressed in his running clothes, a bottle of water in one hand. He paused when he saw what Dean was doing, frowning at his actions.

“You read it?” he asked, looming over his brother’s shoulder, dragging the book towards him with one finger.

“Yeah,” Dean grunted, trying to hold back a yawn. He hadn’t yet been to bed; the book had sucked him in and distracted him for the entire night. “I wanna know if she’s real.”

“What happened to not thinking that?” Sam teased, picking the book up, flicking through it. “Is it like ours?”

“Worse.”

“Oh.” Sam dropped the book like it was on fire. “I’m going for a run.” Dean nodded, not really acknowledging him, even when the heavy bunker door slammed shut. He was focused on the laptop screen, looking for reports with her name in, to see if she was real. Finding one mention of a man with the same last name, and called Michael like her brother was, he dismissed it, as the guy seemed completely normal, and it was a fairly common name.

At the bottom of the results, he saw an FBI report, on the public domain. Clicking, Dean scanned through, reading the details, his eyes widening.

Y/L/N, Y/N. Born December 27th, 1983. Died May 2nd, 2008.

Dean blinked, unsure of what he was reading. She’d died. She was dead, according to this report, she’d been found murdered by the FBI agents tailing her. But that wasn’t the worst part of it.

She’d died the same day as him.

When Sam came back from his run, Dean was in the middle of the second book. His internet search had brought up nothing concrete on whether she was alive, and he had to know if she was. The books were his only option.

“Dude, you’re still reading those?”

“You’re the one that found them,” Dean grunted, not looking up. “She’s real, Sam. I know it.”

“How?” Sam asked, finishing off his bottle of water, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. “They’re just books, Dean.” The elder Winchester sat up straight, ignoring the book he was reading for a moment to swivel the laptop around so his brother could see the report. Sam frowned, leaning over, scanning the page quickly. “Whoa,” he muttered, clicking the space bar to move the page down. “That’s… that’s the day you died,” he commented, and Dean nodded.

“I need to know if she’s alive. And I can’t find anything that proves it online. There’s nothing but these books, and if she’s real and alive -”

“Dean, this could be nothing,” Sam warned, shaking his head as he stood straight again. “You might be seeing things that aren’t there. I mean, there are similarities but -”

“Since when has coincidence actually been a coincidence in our lives, Sammy?” Dean interrupted, holding the book up. “This girl could be out there, she could be -” He sighed, placing the book back down. “Look, if she is real, and she is out there, I gotta know. I gotta find out what happened to her.”

Sam held his hands up, backing away. “Whatever you gotta do, man,” he relented, turning away from his brother. “Just don’t get your hopes up. Not everyone comes back from the dead.”

*****

As it turned out, Y/N Y/L/N wasn’t an easy hunter to find. With the sparse contacts they had left, they narrowed down a few locations, but they’d also gleaned some information on the way. Garth knew her, and Jody had heard of her. Half a dozen other hunters had expressed surprise that the Winchesters didn’t know who she was.

Neither of them had heard of her.

Dean was more focused on the search than Sam, who had only started to become interested when there was more solid information that she was real and that she was most likely alive. Suspicion was his first port of call, but Dean insisted that finding her was important, not that he could give a reason why.

Something was drawing him towards her, and it was unnerving, to say the least.

A salt and burn in nearby Kansas City dragged them into familiar hunting grounds, and while it was an easy case, Sam was glad for the reprieve he felt from their constant searching.

It didn’t last.

Dean’s phone rang, the tone loud and obnoxious in the dark car. He fished it out, answering it as Sam frowned over at him with sleepy eyes. “Hello?”

“ _Dean? It’s Garth_ ,” the hunter-turned-werewolf greeted, his words high-pitched. “ _I got a blip on Y/N. She’s in Kansas_.”

“Where?”

“ _Kansas City_ ,” Garth replied, and Dean rolled his eyes in frustration.

“We were just there,” he growled, looking over at Sam, who slumped in his seat. The prospect of his bed, his own bed, was just snatched away in a blink, and he knew it would be a stiff motel mattress giving him backache tomorrow. “Got an address?”

Garth chuckled. “ _You bet I do. Just promise me one thing, Dean?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Don’t go in guns blazin’. Y/N can be volatile at the best of times, and she’ll normally shoot first and ask questions later_.”

Dean glanced at Sam again, who shrugged and waved him off, leaning his head on the window. With a sigh, Dean nodded, despite Garth not being able to see him. “Yeah, yeah. I got ya. Address?”

The motel was about twenty miles behind them, and Sam didn’t bother putting up a protest when Dean turned Baby around on the highway and started heading the way they’d come. Neither of them spoke until Dean grew tired of the tense atmosphere.

“Sam, I know you think I’m crazy -”

Sam laughed dryly, nodding. “Yeah, I do. But y’know what? It’s kinda good to see you this invested in something. You’ve never really gone this far in seeking someone out just because, you know?” Dean’s jaw ticked, and Sam smiled. “Dean, this girl draws a lotta parallels, I can admit that. But she probably doesn’t know jack about us, so maybe we shouldn’t knock on her motel room door at 2 am?”

Dean grunted in reluctant agreement, and the silence returned to the front seat. The motel sign came into view a few moments later, and lucky for them, the vacancy sign was flashing brightly. He parked up the car and climbed out, closely followed by Sam, who walked straight into the back of him when Dean stopped suddenly.

“That’s…” he started, pointing at a sleek black Mustang Shelby Cobra. “That’s her car. The one in the books.” Nothing was stopping him as he approached the vehicle, admiring her, even in the darkness. “Shelby. The car her uncle restored for her as her birthday present when she turned eighteen.” Sam gaped; he hadn’t read that far into the books, and it was obvious Dean had practically memorized them. “She’s actually real,” Dean continued, running one hand over the contours of the black paint, his awe evident. “And she’s in such good condition.”

A gun cocked behind them, and both brothers turned. At an open motel room door, a woman stood, her feet spread equally in front and behind her, and a sawed-off in her hands. Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her chin upwards. “You gents mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing?”

*****

Dean swallowed as Y/N trained the gun on them, her suspicious gaze looking right through him. Sam was stock still, just in front of him, but not obstructing his view.

She was gorgeous.

A curvaceous figure clad in jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned to show a black tank top underneath. There was a scar around her throat, one that looked like it had taken a long time to heal, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if she had as many scars as he did.

“Anything?” she demanded, jerking the gun upwards.

“We were just admiring her,” Sam blurted out, grinning nervously. “We’ve got a Chevy Impala, ‘67. Classic cars are kind of our thing -”

“Y/N,” Dean said, cutting his brother off, and the younger Winchester looked over his shoulder in irritation.

Y/N wasn’t impressed. “How do you know my name?”

Dean lowered his hands slowly. “We’re hunters. Like you.” She didn’t put the gun down. “I’m Dean, and this is Sam.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Winchester.” There was a flinch of recognition on her face.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you,” she acknowledged. “Can I assume you took care of the salt and burn in town?” Sam nodded, lowering his hands too, and Y/N finally dropped her gun, clicking the safety back on and tucking it into her pants. “Nice meeting you, but I don’t play well with others.” She turned, prepared to slam the door on them, and Dean called out to her.

“I know you don’t know us,” he started. “But we found something, and I think you have a right to know.” He reached into his jacket, and Y/N’s hand went for her gun again, only stopping when she saw the book his hand. “You need to see this.”

She stared at the book, shrugging. “Looks like a trashy teen novel to me,” she snorted, folding her arms over her chest. Dean shook his head, coming closer, holding it out to her, and she took it, rolling her eyes dramatically. Looking down at the cover, she frowned, before flipping the book over in her hands, each second widening her shocked expression as she read the words describing her life.

“There’s a few of them. My brother, Sam, he found them and when I read them -”

“You read them?” she whispered, interrupting with horror on her face.

Dean nodded. “You’ve… you’ve seen things, and been through things. And we have too. The reason I wanted to find you, is because everything you’ve done, everything that’s happened to you? It’s happened to us too. In some way, we’ve lived the same path.”

Sam reached out to Dean, lightly touching his shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna freak her out.”

“I’m… this is insane,” Y/N muttered, opening the book, flicking through a few chapters until words jumped out at her, and she slammed the book shut. “Well, that was detailed.”

A smirk blossomed on Dean’s face. “Yeah, it ain’t fun finding out you’re full frontal in literature, huh?”

“How would you know?” she asked, glaring at him, and Sam sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose when Dean gave a gesture to the both of them. “There are books about you too?” Dean nodded at her guess, and her glare increased. “Well, if you’ve read about my sex life, it’s only fair I read about yours.”

That wasn’t the reaction Dean had been expecting, and he stammered when Sam laughed. “Uh, I mean, I think you can get them on Kindle.”

Y/N looked at him blankly, before shaking her head in exasperation. “I think you’d better come in.” She stood back, gesturing into the motel room, and they entered, both men giving her nervous smiles. Y/N shut the door and headed towards the other side of the room, grabbing the bottle of whiskey she’d already been nursing. “So, someone is writing out hunter’s lives?”

“No,” Dean replied, taking a glass of whiskey when she offered it. Sam declined, standing back. “God is.” She almost choked on her drink, wiping furiously at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well, not God, sorta God…  you know, it’s really complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Sam chided. “The books were written by a prophet called Chuck. As it turns out, Chuck is God, but we’re not sure if he was God when he wrote the books. Either way, we got a cult following out of it. Looks like your books did too.”

“Oh God,” Y/N groaned, staring down at the book she’d dropped onto the bed.

“Exactly,” Dean pointed out, looking pleased with his joke, and Sam had to hold back from slapping him up the back of the head. His elder brother was clearly attracted to this woman because he was acting like a complete idiot. Sam never really understood how Dean got laid so much when he was this much of a goof.

Y/N ignored the pun, downing her whiskey and pouring another. “So you saw - read - everything?” Dean nodded, and Sam shook his head. “You didn’t read them?” she asked, and Sam shook his head again. “Why not?” Did she sound a little defensive?

“If I could have gotten them out of Dean’s grasp, then yeah, maybe. But I got the Cliff Notes version.”

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved by that or offended. Downing the second whiskey, she decided against any more and picked the book up again. “Why would anyone care about me?”

“You’re pretty badass,” Dean exclaimed, his cheeks turning a slight shade of red. “The fight with the vampires in Oklahoma? Taking down a centuries-old witch by yourself?”

“Selling my soul, going to Hell, days of blood and death and loneliness?” Y/N added, bitterly. “Sounds like a fucking dream come true.”

“I don’t understand how we’ve never met,” Sam mused, folding his arms over his chest. “You seem to be pretty well-reputed. But we’d never heard of you.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “I found a death certificate online. You died the same day I did.” He paused, scratching the back of his head. “That one time.” Y/N blinked at him, shrugging. “I mean, there’s probably several for us online.”

Y/N sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I keep to myself. Hunters are… judgemental when you’ve done some of the things I’ve done. I think you probably understand that.” She inhaled deeply. “At least you got each other.”

“What happened to your brother?” Dean asked, softly, moving closer.

She didn’t look at him when she answered. “I sold my soul to a crossroad demon so he could have a life without all this. He hated hunting, and he nearly died. He did die. So I made a deal.”

Sam was staring now, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. “You made the same deal as Dean?”

Her eyes shot to Dean, her jaw going a little slack. “I got a year,” she whispered. “How long did you get?”

“Same deal. Except, I didn’t do that for Sam.” Dean didn’t want to look back at Sam, didn’t want to know what life would have been for him if Dean hadn’t have been so selfish. Sam was there though, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to reassure him that he was way past that history.

“And we died on the same day?” she clarified, receiving a nod. “Huh.” The reaction seemed all too blase and Dean frowned, watching her move across the room to grab her bag.

“Where are you heading?” Sam asked, and Y/N looked up at him from her duffel.

“I was looking for a case but… it’s been quiet lately,” she admitted, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll probably bounce for a few days, pick a motel, see some sights,” she waved her hand, “you know the drill.”

Dean looked back at Sam, who raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the woman on the bed. “How about you come stay with us for a few days? Hot showers, good food, no rent - you can even read our books.” Dean grinned, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips too. “Compare notes.”

“How’s the water pressure?” she asked, standing up.

“Perfect,” Dean answered, and Y/N’s smile blossomed.


	2. Chapter 2

Y/N wasn’t leaving without her car, and she made that clear from the get-go. Dean wasn’t about to argue; he thought the Mustang was a beast of a machine, and when she parked it next to his Baby, he couldn’t help but stop and admire them together.

“You know, I could take a look at the engine if you want,” he offered, and Y/N looked at him with one thinly arched eyebrow. “I noticed she was struggling a little starting up, and… well, I like cars.”

Her mouth twitched in amusement, and she rested one hand on the hood of the Mustang, stroking her like a cherished pet. “I guess you can get a look under her hood. As long as your gentle with her,” she added, a smirk stretching her lips, and Dean blinked at her.

Was she flirting with him?

Before he could finish the thought process, Y/N was flouncing - yeah, flouncing - off through the garage, and the sway of her hips drew Dean’s attention quicker than he was happy with. He ground his teeth together, getting his duffel, and following the path both she and Sam had taken into the building.

“This place is pretty awesome,” she commented, looking around as she walked through the hallways, her bag slung over one shoulder. Dean followed, trying not to let his gaze linger on her ass, grunting an acknowledgment of her assessment. “How’d you get it?”

“We’re legacies,” Sam explained, leading her into the library. “Men Of Letters; they’re a defunct organization. Or they were.” He paused, frowned as he gently laid his bag on the first table he reached. “It’s complicated.”

“Huh,” Y/N answered, but the tone sounded like she didn’t really care. She didn’t strike Dean as the type to set down roots - much like he’d been once upon a time. The road had been her home for so long if he was going by the books, and every move she made was calculated and on edge. She didn’t trust them - he didn’t blame her.

He hoped that would change though.

“You hungry?” Dean asked, sliding past her without touching her in the slightest, but still able to feel the heat coming off of her body. His own body reacted, and he stifled a groan when he sat down and caught himself in the seam of his pants. “We could order.”

Y/N shrugged, apparently uncaring about the choice of cuisine. “I’m easy.”

“Pizza it is,” Dean cheered, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he pulled out his laptop from his bag. “Sammy can order.”

“On it,” Sam replied, quickly logging into his computer to order. “Any preference?” he asked, directing the question at Y/N. “Large, medium…”

“Whatever you guys are having,” she answered, not looking at him. She was moving towards the bookcases, inspecting the books thoroughly.

“Well, if you wanna eat rabbit food on dough, Sam’s probably gonna order somethin’ like that,” Dean joked, earning himself a glare from his brother. “But I’m more of a meat lover.”

Her eyes were sparkling with mirth when she glanced at him. “I bet you are,” she retorted, and Dean couldn’t help but wiggle his eyebrows. “I’m not much for the healthy option. Put me down for a pepperoni.”

“Good choice,” Dean muttered, watching Sam roll his eyes and click on the options. His attention didn’t linger there for long; his eyes were back on Y/N as she explored the shelves, picking out one or two books before putting them back. “You can read whatever is in here. We’ve got some books I haven’t even read.”

“Lots of demon lore in here,” she muttered, running her fingers over the spine of one book that proudly announced in golden curved lettering “Dante’s Demon Codex”. “This one is bullshit,” she scoffed, gesturing to it. “But you probably knew that.”

Dean didn’t, but Sam did. He glanced up from his computer, a lopsided grin on his face. “I like to keep it around. It’s information we won’t use, but I don’t like throwing books away.”

Y/N shrugged, moving on to the next shelving unit. Something caught her attention, and she pulled the book free, inspecting the cover delicately. “Is this a first edition?” Sam looked up, frowning at the book.

“I think that’s one of Dean’s?” he replied, returning to ordering the food. Dean stood up, taking the book from her and ignoring her shocked expression.

“What?” he asked, turning the book over.

“You read?” She looked mildly amused and Dean sneered at her playfully, prompting her to stick her tongue out at him. The action sent a jolt of unexpected arousal running through him, and he quickly put the book back on the shelf and returned to his seat, shifting uncomfortably to hide the bulge in his jeans. Y/N watched him with a smile, before sliding into the seat opposite him. “So what do you guys do for fun around here?” she asked, playing with the strap on her bag where it sat on the table.

“We’ve got a shooting range,” Dean offered, leaning on his elbows. “And a gym. Sam’s got a big ass tv in his room.”

She nodded, looking around. “This sure is a sweet set up. Man, if every hunter had this -” She trailed off, shaking her head. “So, where are these books?”

Dean blinked at her, before remembering about the Supernatural books. “I’ll get them,” he muttered, earning a surprised look from Sam. “What? I kept a copy of each. Just in case.”

“Just in case?” Sam parroted, but Dean was already off towards his room, leaving them behind. The younger brother sighed and tapped on his keyboard. “I’ll go collect dinner,” he said, standing up. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone,” he added, giving Y/N a pointed look. She smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning with one arm slung over the back of the chair.

The bunker echoed with the sound of a shutting door, and Y/N stood up, walking in the direction Dean had taken. The entire place was full of twists and turns, and she kept going until she saw an open door to a bedroom, and Dean inside, rifling through a box labeled “crap”. “Nice rooms too,” she chuckled, making him jump. “Come on, you’re a hunter. Shouldn’t scare so easy.”

“I was concentrating,” Dean mumbled, glaring at her. “Where’s Sam?”

“Went to get food. Said we shouldn’t kill each other.” She smiled at him slyly, moving closer. Her eyes swept over his body, taking in the broad shoulders and firm back, and tight ass underneath equally tight jeans. “But I could think of a few things that are more fun than that.”

Dean’s back went ramrod straight and he turned, one thin black book in his hand as he arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Huh?”

“You look like a guy that could show a girl a good time, Dean Winchester.”

His cheeks colored, and he stuttered, unsure what to do or say, when her fingers caressed his chest, her eyes glinting with wickedness. “W-we just met, Y/N, I’m -”

“Not that kind of guy?” she finished her tone light and teasing. “You strike me as more than that kind of guy. How many women have you picked up in bars and left alone in the morning, heartbreaker?” Dean stared at her, not noticing her hand going to the book in his fingers. “Would these books tell me all your dirty little trysts?” She snatched the book, giggling at his dumbfounded expression, which changed to confusion as she backed away, smirking wildly at him. “Can’t wait to read and find out.”

Dean shook himself free of his stupor, glaring at her. Y/N blinked back at him, tossing her hair out of her eyes and walking from the room without another word. “What the hell?” he muttered, looking down at the thick chub of his erection through his jeans. There was no way she didn’t know what she was doing to him. Was she just toying with him?

He frowned, willing away his erection and pulling the rest of the books out of the box. Whatever she was up to, he’d figure it out. And enjoy it while he could.

*****

“These books really go into graphic detail, huh?” Y/N commented, not looking up from the fourth Supernatural book, earning raised eyebrows from both Sam and Dean. “I mean, it’s… specific information in here,” she added, finally glancing at them. “Kinda juicy.”

Dean’s cheeks were flushing red and Sam chuckled, looking back down at his research. “You know, that part isn’t really relevant to the plot,” Dean mumbled, reaching over to try and snatch the book from her grasp, but Y/N was too quick.

“I’m not done.”

“Aren’t you gonna read your own books?” he whined, slinking back to his seat, and she grinned at him.

“I wanna know what makes you two so heroic,” she replied, shrugging. “I got Garth telling me you’re goddamn legends, but so far, all I’m seeing is a couple of playboys who’ve tripped their way through every case.” A shudder ran through her. “Although, kudos on the houses with all the insects. Bugs. Gross.” She made a face, and Sam looked up, still smirking in amusement.

“We’re not playboys,” Dean grunted, looking back to the paper he’d been reading. “Besides, I can’t recall ever having a threesome in the back room of a hunter bar.” Y/N’s head snapped up, and a smug expression covered his face. Sam was watching now, research forgotten in favor of juicy tidbits. “Chuck really captured that scene with you bent over the dumpster with that little Fed skirt bunched around your -”

“Okay!” Y/N interrupted, standing up with a blush on her cheeks. “That’s not relevant to any plot.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I never got to that part,” he mused, eyeing the books on the table that chronicled Y/N’s adventures. Before he could think about leaning forward, Y/N had her hands on them, a vicious glare leveled on both of them.

“You don’t need to read them. I’m sure Dean can fill you in,” she announced. Dean laughed under his breath, and her eyes widened. “On the important parts.” Standing, she gathered the Supernatural and Hunters books, managing not to drop any as she lumbered out of the room awkwardly.

“Two can play this game, sweetheart,” Dean called, still chuckling away when he returned to the newspaper. Sam watched him for a second, before Dean realized, returning his gaze intently. “What?”

Sam scoffed a laughter. “There’s a game?”

Dean shrugged, unable to resist looking in the direction Y/N had gone. “She started it.”

*****

He was folding his laundry when the quiet knock came at the door. Y/N stood there, clutching the last officially published book in her hands, and Dean’s shoulders sagged. “I finished,” she whispered, meeting his eyes with uncertainty.

There wasn’t an answer he could give to her statement, so he returned to his job, trying not to follow her with his eyes when she walked into the room, coming to sit next to the neatly folded pile of pants.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Dean asked, not looking at her.

“I teased you. And this,” she gestured to the book in her hand, “this entire thing… it sucks you lived through all that.”

He sighed, dropping the shirt in his hands on top of the pile. “I’ve read your story, sweetheart,” he replied, giving her a sad little half smile. “Wasn’t exactly a picnic for you either.” There was still laundry to fold, but Dean stopped, narrowing his eyes as he decided to take a risk. “Hey, you wanna go for a drink?”

She didn’t seem to take long to consider it, smiling and nodding at him, leaving the book on his pile of clothes. Dean gestured for her to go first through the door, and he didn’t bother closing it behind him.

Lebanon’s bar life wasn’t exactly jumping, and the dive Dean led her to wasn’t the most savory of places, but as hunters, it was practically five star. The beer was lukewarm, but it was flowing, and before long, they were washing down the stale taste with Johnny Walker, laughing over hunting stories.

“So, Sam’s married to this girl, and she’s got him tied up in some cabin,” Dean was regaling, telling Y/N one of the unpublished tales of the Winchesters. “Eventually, we found him, freed him and annulled his marriage.”

“Nearly Mrs. Becky huh?” Y/N cringed at the thought, remembering the vapid fangirl from the fifth series of books. “Did you get the waffle iron back?”

“Hell yes I did,” Dean replied, holding up his glass of whiskey straight. “It’s back at the Batcave.”

“I would love waffles,” she drawled, sipping at her drink again, and Dean laughed, downing his drink and signaling the bartender for another round. Neither he nor Y/N spoke for several minutes, nursing their drink as men and women around them chatted, argued and kissed without care.

“So,” he started, avoiding eye contact. “What happened? With your brother, I mean. The books weren’t too clear on the specifics.”

“I haven’t read them yet,” she answered honestly, running her fingers around the top of her glass. “The thought of reading about myself, about my life - it’s weird.”

Dean nodded, hunching his shoulders. “I get that.” He would know, he’d been there. Even now, looking at those books, knowing they were still existing, knowing that teenage girls wrote school musicals about them… still weird. “Especially the nudity. I skipped the parts with Sam.”

“I didn’t,” Y/N retorted, shooting him a drunken smirk. She hadn’t answered his question about her brother, and Dean decided not to push it when she leaned over the table, giving him an ample view of her cleavage. Alcohol was beginning to confuse his upstairs and downstairs brains. “I’ve been trying to put you with him,” Y/N commented, swirling around the dregs of liquid in the bottom of her glass. “That hopeful hunter, the one you were in the beginning.”

There was no mirth in Dean’s laugh. “Guess this life doesn’t give you much in the way of optimism.”

“You know what you’re doing now. Back then, you were fumbling.” She looked down at the counter. “Not a bad thing - I was the same. Raised in the life. Had to watch everyone…” A shuddering breath escaped her. “Leave.”

He knew how it felt when it was too painful to say dead. Dean shared in her loss and for a moment, neither of them said anything. When her fingers brushed against him, he jumped and looked up at her. Her eyes were hazy, slightly watery, and the smile on her face was more than a little influenced by the alcohol, but at that moment, Dean hadn’t seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here often?” she asked, trying to stifle a giggle.

“Is that seriously your chat up line?” he chortled, shaking his head, and her giggle escaped. “How about we take the bottle to go and finish this somewhere a little more comfortable?”

Y/N tilted her head to the side, her smile widening. “You know, that’s not much better than mine,” she replied, picking up her drink and draining the rest of the glass.

“Is that a yes?” Dean asked, and her smile turned shy when she nodded. He grinned, taking her hand and pulling her from the seat. It took all of two seconds to pay for the bottle of whiskey and even less time to get out to the Impala.

“Is driving such a good idea?” Y/N slurred, as Dean fumbled with the keys for Baby. “We’re both pretty tanked.” Dean paused, looking down at his hand holding the wrong key against the lock and shrugged.

“You wanna walk back?” he asked, glancing down the road into the darkness. It was at least three or four miles to the bunker, and Y/N pulled a face like a child being told they couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast. “Yeah, me either.” He sighed, leaning against Baby. “Uber?”

Y/N paused for a moment, her eyes glancing into the car. “You know, it’s a pretty quiet parking lot, and we’re parked all the way over here…” She trailed off, wiggling her eyebrows unsuccessfully. Dean’s eyes widened, and the smile on his face started to mirror hers.

Before he could answer, the weather made their decision for them. The heavens opened, dumping rain down in ridiculous amounts, enough to make Y/N shriek and Dean dive to get the doors of the Impala opened. By the time he did, they were both soaked to the bone but laughed hard as they crawled across the back seat.

Laughs became pants for breath in the confined space, and it wasn’t long before they were kissing hard, hands fumbling under drenched material. When Y/N shivered, Dean grinned, pulling back to look down at her, face illuminated by the neon bar signs only meters from the car. “You’re beautiful,” he drawled, his words a little wobbly.

“So are you,” she replied, dragging a hand down his cheek. “But handsome. Although, you’re kinda beautiful.” The amused sound she made was adorable, Dean thought. “Pretty boy Winchesters.”

“Shut up,” he grunted, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. “‘m not a pretty boy.” His tongue snaked out, brushing against hers, and all argument that could have blossomed was gone. God, he tasted good. The whiskey was strong on his tongue, but Y/N could taste the gum he’d had earlier, still fresh and minty.

Fingers stroked her belly underneath her shirt, and she wiggled, desperate to feel his skin against hers, and Dean was quick to pick up on her movements. Wet fabric hit the bottom of the car with a soggy “thwap” as they rushed to get naked, and the second Dean had access, his fingers were pressing into her core, making Y/N take a sharp breath.

“You’re so wet,” he purred against her ear and she shuddered, reaching down blindly. Her fingers brushed against his cock for a brief second, before grasping him firmly, and a rumble ran through Dean’s chest. “Want me, Y/N?”

“Since the minute I saw you,” she replied, arching up into his touch. Dean smirked at her answer, dropping his head to circle his tongue around one hardened nipple. “Fuck, Dean -”

“That was my intention,” he quipped, and Y/N rolled her eyes, squeezing her fingers around his cock tightly, producing a groan from his swollen lips. “You’re not just gonna lay there and take it, are you?” She grinned, shaking her head, before wiggling down, keeping her hand on his cock. “Oh fuck!”

Her lips wrapped around his dick and Dean moaned deep in his throat, tossing his head back against the seat. Y/N pushed at his hip, coaxing him down onto the leather upholstery, giving her better access and she instantly took him in until her throat refused any more. She gagged, choking and drooling on his cock and Dean’s eyes widened when she pushed herself further.

It felt like hot, wet heaven, and he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t cum already. He’d never experienced a woman like this in his life. “Fuck, god, right there,” he growled, feeling her thumb press into the sensitive spot where his sac met the base of his cock. She moved the pad of her thumb like she was massaging him, and Dean was panting in seconds, his fingers curled around the edges of the seat and backrest.

Y/N didn’t stop. She picked up a steady pace, bobbing up and down on him, the force making her hair come loose from the ponytail she had it in. Dean reached out, grabbing it and assisting her movements. The sound she made around his cock was muffled and delicious, and he could have sworn he saw stars for a second.

She pulled back abruptly, wiping at her mouth, her breathing harsh and face red. But she was smiling when she met his eyes, licking her lips. “Gimme a second,” she panted, and his answer came with a rumble from his chest. Y/N shrieked loudly when he rolled her underneath him, watching the reflection of raindrops on her bare skin.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth,” he snapped, fixing a delightfully wicked smirk on her. “But you’re gonna cum on mine.”

The second his mouth was on her, Y/N cursed loudly, mimicking the position Dean had been in moments before. His hands were pushing at her thighs, spreading her open to him, moaning as her aroma sung on his taste buds. Dragging his tongue over her vulva, he felt the shudder in her core, her inner walls clutching at nothing.

“Fuck, Dean,” Y/N panted, digging her nails into the fabric below her. A part of Dean’s mind wanted to warn her not to rip the upholstery, but the part doing the actual thinking, just saw how resplendent she looked. Naked skin covered in distorted pink and green light from the bar sign, a thin sweat layering her as she writhed and bucked up towards him, wanting more of his mouth. “Please, I need…”

He chuckled, lowering his mouth slowly, zeroing in on her clit and sucking hard. A high-pitched keen was his reward, and Y/N’s hips shook uncontrollably as Dean kept going, using his tongue to tease and torture the small bundle of nerves. She was panting his name, dispersing it amongst “please” and prayers.

When she came, the sweet taste of her flooding his mouth, Dean didn’t stop. He worked her through it, wondering if he could get her to cum again before he finally took her. The thought wouldn’t leave, so he pressed his index against her entrance, groaning when he felt just how fucking wet and receptive she was.

The sound she made when he slid his finger inside her was possibly the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard - halfway between a gasp and a cry, stolen by the sound of the rain pounding against the window. Her body tightened around him, and Dean muttered against her, releasing her clit to praise how good she was being.

“Dean,” she sounded parched and Dean looked up, ceasing his movements for a second to lock his eyes were hers. “More.”

He felt the pull in his belly, his cock jumping as he withdrew his touch from her body, sucking his own finger into his mouth. Y/N’s eyes glittered with lust, and she reached for him, gripping his shoulders tightly as he covered her body with his own. “You want me, darlin’?” he asked, and Y/N nodded, holding her breath.

She hissed at the first inch, then whimpered at the second, before crying out in pleasure when he sank into her fully, bottoming out with a delightful burn in her core. Dean held still, his entire frame shaking with the effort - all he wanted was to fuck her into oblivion, make her scream and break around him over and over. He wanted her spread out and begging, but he wanted her that way forever.

Swallowing down his feelings, Dean focused on her expression, brushing his lips against hers as he started to pull out. The friction was astounding, and both of them stilled when he filled her again, clutching at the other like they were the only anchor to reality.

The rain was slowing, but Dean didn’t want it to end. Y/N was moving in time with him like she’d been made to do so, every curve of her body matching every contour of his. Both of them were coated in sweat, and Dean hadn’t stopped stealing kisses. He was overwhelmed by all of his senses; Y/N seemed equally lost.

She came around him with a shudder, dragging him over the edge, and he held himself close as his cock throbbed through his climax, spunk leaking out to stain the leather underneath their joined bodies. Y/N sighed happily, and her eyes fluttered shut. Dean leaned against the backrest with his shoulder, wincing when her body tightened around him with tiny aftershocks.

Apparently, the exertion had left his nether regions a little sensitive. “I gotta move,” he grunted, kissing her jaw and Y/N smiled, nodding without opening her eyes. Dean grabbed his soaked shirt off of the floor, cleaning them both up, before snatching the blanket from the back shelf.

It would be a ballache to peel himself off of the leather in the morning, and driving home with wet clothes was only just about better than driving home naked, but as he felt Y/N settle into sleep, held tightly in his arms under the aged blanket, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care.


	3. Chapter 3

She rode him the next morning, rousing him with another enthusiastic blowjob, and Dean let her take all the control. He didn’t drive home naked, but he was fairly certain he was going to have red thighs for a week after having wet denim wrapped around them.

Y/N didn’t get dressed, and Dean wasn’t sure how he’d ever gotten the Impala back into the garage without crashing it. She was a helluva distraction, and before she could go parading through the bunker in her birthday suit, Dean threw the blanket around her.

He didn’t want Sam to see her naked.

Maybe he was being childish, or jealous, but their night in the backseat of his Baby had changed something inside him. Dean couldn’t imagine losing her now, even though it was the most terrifying decision he’d ever made. The life didn’t allow for love or happiness, but since Sam had brought those books home…

Dean felt hope.

He felt it to his very core like he’d been given a glimpse of what a future could be. Did Y/N feel it too? He didn’t know. Either way, he wasn’t letting her go.

She didn’t seem inclined to leave, and within a few days, she was sleeping in his bed, sharing every night curled up with him. Dean didn’t mind when she put her toothbrush next to his or stole his band shirts from the bottom drawer - nothing sexier than a woman in a too-big ACDC shirt and little else.

Sam wasn’t bothered by the situation, if anything, he seemed happy that Dean and Y/N had found a connection. He’d never seen his brother smile so much; it sorta gave him hope for himself.

Two months, and a lot of sex later, Dean realized the inevitable. Somewhere along the line, he’d gone and fallen in love with Y/N. She wasn’t showing any inclination of leaving the bunker, apparently happy to hunt and live with them, and they were happy to have her.

Of course, he had to go and ruin it all.

It was Sunday evening, and a successful hunt had laid another spook to rest. Dean was in a great mood when they returned to the bunker, and Sam bowed out quickly, heading to bed. Y/N waited for him to be out of earshot, before fixing a smile on the remaining Winchester.

“I’m not tired,” she said, keeping her voice low. “How about you?”

Dean stretched and yawned for effect, before chuckling. “What you got in mind?”

She was approaching him then, all sultry sway and god, he was fucking hard already. “I was thinking about you, me, a few beers… and the entire Star Wars trilogy.” Puckering her lips, she leaned in, pressing her mouth close to his ear. “Original.”

He shuddered, clasping his hands around her waist. “We’ve tried to watch that six times already. Never make it through the first film because you distract me.”

Y/N giggled, fisting her hands in his shirt. “I never hear you complaining,” she replied, tugging him towards the bedrooms. Sam’s door was shut tight - he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew exactly what they would be getting up to in the wake of a hunt, successful or otherwise.

The prediction that they wouldn’t make it through the film was correct. Han Solo had only just gotten to Mos Eisley cantina, and the rest of it was background noise to the pornographic soundtrack provided by Dean’s hips slamming into Y/N from behind. She was moaning, exaggerating the noise because Dean loved it when she was loud. His fingers were curled around her asscheeks, dragging her back towards him as he surged forward.

Y/N came before Luke and Han had boarded the Death Star, and Dean followed her quickly, pumping load after load of cum into her. For a few moments afterward, he remained behind her, until she pulled forward and laid down, moving over so he could lay next to her. There was no silence, just the sound of Leia sassing Luke when he came to rescue her.

Dean smiled, watching Y/N as she watched the television until she noticed him staring. “What?” she asked, propping up her head on her hand. He shook his head, grinning like an idiot. “What?” she repeated.

“What is this?” he murmured, dragging his finger along her bare arm. Y/N laughed, looking away from him for a second before her eyes returned to his, filled with amusement. “No, I’m serious,” Dean pressed, missing the way her smile started to fade. “You and me, we’ve got this great thing going, and I just wanna know if it’s… you know, going somewhere or just…”

She sat up, an unhappy expression on her face. “Dean, don’t -”

“Don’t what?” He frowned, sitting up to join her, but she inched away. “Y/N, we’re great together. You’re like a missing piece I never knew was -”

“I said, DON’T!” she yelled, springing away from the bed. “Dean, this is just sex. That’s all it is. You’re good at it, I’m good at it, but that’s it.” She was dressing, quickly enough to put her leg into the wrong hole of her pants. A frustrated growl escaped her, and Dean simply watched, confusion and upset clouding his features. “I’m gonna sleep in my room.” The announcement went without space for argument, and Dean was left alone, the Death March ominously accompanying his despair.

Slowly, he got up, pulled on his jeans and went to her bedroom door - the room she hadn’t even slept in for weeks - and knocked.

She didn’t respond.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just -” What was he supposed to say? A heavy sigh left his lips, and he leaned his head against the door for a second, then pulled away. He needed to give her space. They could talk tomorrow.

*****

“Sam?”

The younger Winchester looked up, frowning when Dean shuffled in, hair mussed and wearing another one of the dead guy robes. “What’s up?”

“You seen Y/N?” Sam looked at him blankly, slowly shaking his head. “Shit. She’s not in her room.”

Sam chuckled, returning to his book. “Have you checked in yours?”

Dean scowled at him, moving to grab a coffee from the dispenser. “Not funny. We… we may have had a fight,” he admitted, and Sam’s head snapped up again. “It was just a little… she overreacted, said she was gonna sleep in her room, and…” Dean held out his hands, bringing his coffee to his lips.

“Maybe she went out for a bit. She’s used to being on her own,” Sam offered, although he didn’t quite believe himself. “Dean, it’s not the first time you’ve had an argument -”

“I tried to tell her I loved her,” Dean blurted out, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I thought that whatever we were doing, it was good -” Sam pulled a face at that, “- and I was seeing if she felt the same, but before I could get it out, she bolted. And now…”

Sam sighed, placing the book down on the table next to his empty cereal bowl. “Dean, I’m sure she’ll come back. She’s your opposite. Probably needs to blow off some steam.” He gave his brother a hopeful smile, and Dean’s shoulders sagged.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “She’ll come back.”

She didn’t.

Three days passed, and Dean was frantic. Her phone was off, and the GPS disabled anyway. No one had heard from her. And he was starting to panic. Sam picked up a case, and it took a whole lot of convincing for Dean to leave the bunker and focus on something beyond his broken heart.

This hunt didn’t go as well as the last - both of them were exhausted and bruised when they fell into cheap motel beds. Sam was out in seconds, but Dean hadn’t been able to sleep alone. He’d found that last time, with Lisa, that when you got used to that warm body beside you, it was jolting when that constant reassurance was no longer there.

While Sam snored, he stared at the stained motel ceiling, wondering where Y/N was, and what she was doing.

Was she with someone else?

Was she hurt?

A sharp vibrating noise distracted him from his wallowing, and Dean rolled over, grabbing his phone. It wasn’t a number he recognized, but he answered anyway. “Dean,” he said curtly, waiting for a response.

“ _It’s me_.”

The world around him froze and he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Y/N? Where are you? Are you okay? Are -”

“ _Dean, stop_.” He fell silent at her words, swallowing down his questions. Y/N sighed heavily on the other end of the phone, and Dean could just see her pinching the bridge of her nose like she always did when she was having a conversation she didn’t want to have. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“Flagstaff, Arizona,” he answered.

“ _Good, that’s not far_ ,” she replied, and his heart seized in his chest. “ _I need you to meet me. I’m in Monticello_.”

“Okay,” he nodded, glancing over at Sam. “I’ll leave now.”

“ _Wait until morning_ ,” Y/N instructed. “ _I’ll meet you at Sue’s Diner on Main_.” She hung up and Dean stared at the phone until the screen went blank. He didn’t know what to do or say.

But he didn’t sleep that night.

*****

He’d left Sam in the car, insisting he had to do this alone. There was no sign of her Mustang, although Dean had kept an eye out for it the whole way, just in case.

Stepping into the diner, he flinched at the loud bell, looked around to see if he could spot Y/N anywhere. A waitress walked up to him, smiling brightly. “You want a booth, sweetheart?”

“Actually, I’m meeting someone. She’s about yay high, probably looks like she wants to rip your throat out with her teeth?”

The waitress’ expression rippled and Dean knew this woman had encountered her. The smile on her face grew tight, and she pointed down the length of the diner. “In the back, glowering over a coffee. Good luck.” Dean jerked his head upwards, a slight laugh on his face as she walked away. Turning, he strode down the diner, finally spotted her reading through a menu.

“Hi,” he said quietly, coming to a stop by her table.

“Looks weird if you just stand there,” Y/N commented, laying the menu flat and turning swollen, red eyes on him. She’d been crying. Guilt slammed into his belly like a rock and Dean slid into the opposite seat without saying anything. “Thanks for coming. I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“Angry?” he repeated, frowning. “I was worried.”

She wasn’t meeting his eyes, and her fingers nervously strummed along the fork on the table in front of her. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting what you said,” she started, and Dean watched her run the words through her head before she said them. “Since… since Michael, I’ve been on my own. No connections, no numbers, fake names - you know what it’s like.” He nodded at that, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “And then you turn up, with this book that chronicles my life and there’s something -” She stopped, finally meeting his eyes. “And it scares the shit out of me.”

Dean chuckled a little, shaking his head. “It scares me too, sweetheart. This life -”

“It’s not just the life, Dean. It’s everything. You know the drill, you read the books. You wanna know how Michael died?” He didn’t reply but knew she was going to tell him anyway. “I had to cut his throat before he killed someone else. Me. My hands. I held the knife and I -” Her voice was choking up, and Dean automatically reached out to take her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know why it wasn’t in the books,” Y/N continued, looking at their joined hands. “I don’t even know why there are books because I stopped it from happening.”

Dean shook his head. “Stopped what?”

Y/N’s eyes were filled with tears. “Me and Michael. We’re descendants of Cain, just like you. He was Lucifer’s other option. We were vessels, but my deal changed everything. The only reason I got pulled out of Hell was that they thought Michael was still an option, and when they found out he wasn’t…” She shuddered. “I thought they were going to put me back. But they just… left me.”

“That’s why Chuck never wrote any more books.”

“We were the hedge bet. And I took away that option, and everything landed on you,” she confessed, attempting to take her hand back but Dean gripped it tightly. “Dean, it’s my fault. Everything.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dean snapped, frowning. Y/N stopped trying to fight and tilted her head in misunderstanding. “Y/N, why did you tell me to come here? Why couldn’t you just come home?” She looked away and then stood up, fishing a ten out of her pocket and dropping it on the counter. Without losing hold of his fingers, she led him from the diner and out into the parking lot.

Sam scrambled up from the passenger seat, looking at them approaching with alarm, and Y/N opened his door, not smiling at him.

“Sam, do you mind if I borrow Dean for ten minutes?” she asked, and he nodded, moving out of the car, and watching his brother and Y/N climb in. The Impala’s tires squealed as Dean pulled away, and Y/N stared at Sam’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Take a left,” she instructed, and Dean obeyed, taking it slow down the residential streets.

After a few more turns, Y/N asked him to pull over, and he turned the engine off, turning to face her. “Where are we?”

She didn’t say anything, raising a hand to point at a house on the opposite side of the street. The front door to the cute little property opened, and a man, in his late twenties at the most, stepped out just before a small black dog bounced out onto the grassy yard. Two young children followed behind him, chasing the dog as the man laughed. A fourth figure emerged, a woman with a white apron around her waist, and she smiled widely.

“That’s Michael. His wife, Beverley,” Y/N spoke slowly, watching the scene with tears in her eyes. “And their four-year-old twins, Thomas and Tabitha.” She took a deep breath. “Michael is a high school math teacher. He doesn’t remember anything about our parents, or me. He thinks they died in a fire, that I died with them. There’s no memory of hunting, demon blood, or anything.” Her eyes drifted to Dean, who was still watching the happy family enjoying their morning in the yard. “This is what I sold my soul for, and I’d do it again. Just like you would.”

He couldn’t object. He’d be lying if he did.

“People like us,” she continued, “don’t get happy endings. You know that as well as I do. There’s always a consequence.”

“So you just give up?” Dean asked, frowning as his attention moved away from her brother and his family. “Walk away from us?”

“There is no “us”,” Y/N replied. “We’re cursed.”

His jaw clenched, and he leaned in. “Maybe we are,” he conceded, “but I’d rather be cursed with you by my side.”

Y/N shook her head, wiping furiously at the tears in her eyes. “I’m too close already,” she whispered. “I can’t lose anyone again. You can’t promise we won’t end badly. Death follows us, Dean.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” he growled, his hands curled into fists. Silence fell over the car as Y/N judged his furious expression, opening her mouth, ready to argue the point but his name hadn’t even formed on her lips when he started to speak again. “I know you think there’s only pain and death. I used to think that too. Until I met you, I was waiting for the next thing that wanted me dead.”

“Dean -”

He shook his head, and she fell quiet again. “I don’t believe in fate. Even with those goddamn books, I never did. I’ve dodged destiny more times than I can count. But you? It’s the first time I’ve met someone and felt hope. I don’t believe in fate, but I believe in whatever it is between us. And I wanna see what our future is and I know, if I don’t, if  _we_  don’t, I’ll regret it forever.”

For a few long seconds, there was nothing. No reaction crossed her face, and her eyes remained tearful. She didn’t speak, and Dean waited, his lungs burning with the breath he held. When she reached forward to take his hand, he relaxed a fraction.

“I think… I’d regret it too,” Y/N whispered, meeting his eyes shyly.

A smile slowly spread across his face, and Dean leaned in, seizing her lips in a kiss. “Come home with me,” he asked, and she nodded, the tears falling but with happy intentions. They kissed, in the front seat of the Impala, clinging to each other like life depended on it.

“I will,” Y/N promised, and Dean knew, she felt the same hope he did.


End file.
